Chapter 8-Tank
It’s a risk.
A big one.
But I’m taking it.
Because if I don’t, if I keep pretending I’m fine lying next to the woman who wrecked me with one night and months of silence, I’m going to lose my damn mind.
The truth is, I’d bare my soul for her.
I’d put my heart on a platter, kneel at her feet, offer her everything I’ve got and beg her to take it.
But not if she doesn’t want it.
Not if I’m the only one standing in this fire.
I need to know.
Need to see it in her eyes, feel it in the way she breathes when I get close.
So, I do the only thing I can.
I reach for the rest of the pillow wall.
The flimsy, stupid barrier she built between us when we agreed to this whole "professional" co-sleeping arrangement.
There’s only three pillows now, all tilted and sagging from the tossing and turning we’ve both been doing.
I grab one.
And knock it onto the floor.
“What are you—” she starts, but I cut her off, turning onto my side, facing her fully.
“You know what I’m doing, Dani.”
She freezes.
Like I’ve short-circuited her brain.
But I see it—the flicker in her eyes, the way her lips part like she’s about to say something and forgets how.
The air between us crackles.
Her chest rises too fast beneath that barely there pink tank top, nipples pebbling against the thin fabric.
Geezus. She’s not wearing much.
And I’m not made of stone.
My voice drops, low and gritty.
A mix of need and nerve.
Soft where I’ve always been careful.
Firm because I’m fucking done pretending.
“I’m doing what I want,” I tell her, my voice scraping over the hunger in my chest. “Trying for what I want.”
She swallows, the muscles in her throat flexing.
Then, quietly, “W-what do you want, Hudson?”
My name.
Not Tank.
Not what the team calls me.
Not what the world sees when they look at me and assume I’m just the brute who smashes bodies for a living.
But Hudson.
The name only my mother used to say soft when she hugged me.
The name Dani moaned the night I had her underneath me.
And it touches something I thought was long buried.
“You,” I say.
No hesitation.
“It’s always been you.”
I reach out. My fingers hover—just an inch from her waist.
I don’t touch. Not yet. Not unless she lets me. Wants me. Chooses me.
“Now,” I murmur, “for the first time since that night, Dani, why don’t you be honest—”
Her breath shudders.
I lean closer, my palm still hovering near her skin.
“And go for something you want.”
A long second passes.
Then her gaze drops—to my mouth.
And when her eyes lift back to mine, her breathing is barely more than a whisper.
But it wrecks me.
Now, she doesn’t speak. Not right away.
But her gaze drops to my mouth, and I swear I hear her breath hitch.
Seconds pass.
She doesn’t rebuild the wall.
She doesn’t turn her head.
She doesn’t run.
Instead—slowly, beautifully—she closes the last inch between us.
Her hand brushes mine. Light. Testing.
And then she whispers, “I am being honest.”
Her fingers slide over my knuckles.
Down to my wrist. Then she pulls on my arm, and places my hand on her soft, warm skin.
This isn’t just a touch—it’s a promise.
And fuck me, it’s all I need.
I close the space.
Our mouths crash.
Gentle is not in the cards tonight.
Not when I’ve been starving for her for weeks.
She tastes like fire and sweet sin and a future I didn’t know I was allowed to want.
Her leg slips over mine. My hand fists in her hair.
And just like that, the wall between us isn’t just gone—it’s forgotten.